Come Fly With Me
by Annie O'Daire
Summary: AU- Heather is going to college, yes. But what will she discover in the walls of a city she had only ever dreamed of? Heya pairing.
1. Prologue- Fly

_Authors Note: _Hola, mis amigos. For you, I have a story. This is only the beginning, and it's been stuck in head for forever.

"Heather, your letter is here! Heather! Heath, hurry!"

I freeze.

My letter is here.

My letter.

The letter that has the potential to send me off into unknown territory, land that holds my hopes, dreams, and future in its palms. My letter is here.

My mom is still screaming, but I can't move.

What if it has a big, bold "no" written in its pages? What if they deny me, mocking me with the silly hope of a chance of being accepted into such an undeniably remarkable school? God, I don't know what I'd do.

But my letter is here and I can't even walk down the stairs.

Somehow my mother must have sensed my paralyzed state because I hear four quick raps on the door, not patient. She rushes into the room, a panicked, wild fire in her bright blue eyes. She looks the same as me with every facial expression she makes. Her eyes move back and forth between the tightly packaged and (thankfully) thick envelope in her hands and me. Finally, she sighs loudly, unnerving almost, letting me know she would simply combust if I didn't take the package from her hands and dismember it like the bomb it could or could not be.

She holds it out.

I use whatever mental capacity I have left to snag it slowly out of her clenching hands. She obviously had not realized she was holding on so tight, because she lets go quickly, causing my hand to fly back past my shoulder. She whispers an inaudible _sorry_ across from me and brings her hands up to the small, slightly rusting cross beneath her chin. Her hands go into a praying clasp around the charm and she shuts her eyes momentarily, and I know she's praying to God, but also to my father. I clench my mouth into a tight line, bracing myself for the sting of tears.

They come.

But, I hold them back, because there are more important matters to be dealt with than the death of my father, which has been years ago now.

My letter is here.

My letter is here and my mother is standing in front of me, praying to a God and to a father in heaven, and I cannot open my letter because I am petrified of what it contains.

My mother opens her eyes.

"Heath, you have to open it someday. I'm right here, baby, I'm here. Open it."

My heart is pumping blood into every cavity of my body and I'm almost positive I will fall over and die in less than 30 seconds from a heart attack, aneurism, something.

I feel sick.

But my letter is here, and I have to open it now. I have to rip off the bandaid like never before.

I look down at the package in my hands, feel the promise of the many pieces of parchment inside and it gives me hope. It tells me there is something to believe in. I trace the inscribed name written in gold in the center, _Heather E. Morris._ My address, with the silly little town name written directly below it.

I flip it over.

God, the envelope seal is thick like molasses and has the symbol of my dream school stamped onto it, perfectly, the edges smooth as grace. Exactly like the seal in Harry Potter.

That thought calms me a little. I love Harry Potter.

I bring my fingers to slip under the envelope's tongue, watching my fingers twitch from adrenaline. I let my finger run down the path from the top right corner to the seal and pull up slightly. The ease with which the seal breaks from the envelope scares me immensely, knowing this moment is coming faster than anticipated.

I pull the top of the envelope above its delicious interior, and take one last breath before leaping off the cliff. I hope it's soft where I jump, and not jagged, mountainous terrain quick to puncture my sorry soul like life has so many countless times.

My mother watches my every miniscule movement and I can't blame her. She's every bit as excited as I am.

When she sees me so close to the ultimatum of epic proportions known as college acceptance or rejection, she braces herself further. Her knuckles are white and her breathing is rough as bark. There's sweat on her upper lip and a pulse point sticking out in a vein on her temple.

I take it back. She might be the one about to kill over.

_This is it,_ I think. No more simplicity, no more getting by in school to maintain those perfect A averages, no more Disney movies or Scooby snacks, no more pretending growing up didn't have to be a reality. It's time to grow up. It's time to be an adult, face adult decisions, some not made by me. One in particular made by some very important, adult people who would help or hinder me from facing my one dream, the dream I'd dreamed since my daddy called me his "little dancer". It's my time to be a big girl and chase what is rightfully mine.

But my letter is here and I have to open the damn thing to find out if that dream is or will be a reality.

I tug the full envelopes contents out of their trap and hold them like a baby bird that's just fallen from a 20 foot tree. I peel the papers apart and let the thirds they have been folded in lay straight, as they were before they were placed in the envelope I have received. I read the first line, carefully, not missing a single word.

I smile.

Juilliard.

School of dance.

New York.

A yes planted at the top of the page, which my mother can see visibly.

She's crying now, and I feel her sobs rack through me as she holds onto my frame as though her life depends on it.

Good god.

_It is a pleasure to inform you that you have been selected from a pool of elite scholars to attend our fall_

And then the lines, and words along with them, blurred incredulously.


	2. Let's Fly Away

_Author's Note:_ Hey hey people of the world. Thanks for all the follows & favorites. Y'all are the best. REVIEW, PLEASE! Tell me whatcha wanna see ;) Hope you like this chapter.

oooo

I'm standing in the middle of the lobby of Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport, looking at the wall of black screens staring back at me. One screen in the top right corner, fourteenth city name down reads _LH 583 NEW YORK CITY 13:30 – ON TIME._

I gulp.

There's a small snake of terror that slithers down my spine and wraps around my insides. I've never been excellent on flights. Not terrible, but not excellent either. There were times when we were younger that my mother, my sisters and I would fly to visit family, but those times were rare. I'm not a flier.

I feel a shove from behind and surge forward, almost losing enough balance to knock me over. But I don't fall. I stand straight and look around, but no one seemed to notice the seemingly unimportant almost-trip. However rude, I understand the need to rush. This is a busy airport, not to mention full. Flights are stacked one on top of the other, and it makes my head spin. I turn away from the times monitors and work my way towards the nearest map. I shove my way (although not as hard as others do) through the crowd and lug my rolling carry on behind me. I bring my spare hand to clutch the strap wrapped around my chest, causing my satchel to hug my side further. I hurry faster through the crowd, begging mentally to be released from the claustrophobia-causing sea of humans. I walk with my head high and spot the large, white board with the airport's floor plans mapped out for me to see.

It is excruciatingly hard to read.

I sidle up next to the map and place my finger on the gate I need to be at. I have almost an hour to kill, but I need to sit before my legs give out.

I need to make three turns. Three immediate turns, one right, then two left. Simple.

Simple enough to forget, which I do.

I make two rights and end up further away from my gate than I started out.

Sometimes I wonder why people can't just make personal GPSs for inside places like this, the kind of place where it isn't humanly possible to end up where you need to be on the first attempt.

But now, on the fifth attempt, God bless, I'm here.

And I'm fifteen minutes from boarding, according to a kind man who could obviously see I was confused.

oooo

I'm on the left side of the plane next to an olive-skinned girl with headphones stuffed so far into her ears she probably wouldn't hear if I screamed bloody murder right beside her. She wears a pair of white shorts that come down to her mid-thigh and a light blue shirt that fits loosely on her. From what I can tell, she seems tall. She wears little make up, and her hair falls in soft curls on either side of her face. She's pretty. She also looks somewhat upset. Why, I'm not sure. I probably shouldn't ask, though.

She doesn't look like the talking type.

A friendlier looking flight attendant approaches our row and asks if we need anything before take-off. I smile and shake my head slightly. The girl beside me rolls her eyes and looks away. I don't think she answered, but the flight attendant seemed to understand. She walks further down the aisle.

I gently throw my head back against the seat and close my eyes. I breathe a deep breath and pretend I'm elsewhere.

The beach.

No, not just the beach.

California.

I feel the sand between my toes and the sun on my face, not but a tiny bit hot enough to burn my fair complexion. Then I think of something.

I dig through my satchel, past my wallet and a few crumpled up gum wrappers. I find my phone, screen a little smudged, and unlock it quickly. I take my earphones from the front pocket on my bag and plug them into my phone, then place the light buds into my ears. I play with my phone for a minute before soft, rumbling sounds of the ocean come tumbling into my ears. I lean my head back once again and let the serenity enclose me. I shut my eyes. I pretend.

oooo

There's someone tapping on my shoulder, and I guess I fell asleep because now the plane is moving and I know for a fact I left it standing still. I open my eyes and the girl sitting beside me has a serious look on her face. Her dark eyes are hooded, squinted slightly, almost suspicious. I take out my left ear bud and look towards her. She purses her lips and squints her eyes more.

"They said to turn your electronics off."

That's all she says before she turns away, looking out the window.

At some point she put on a light brown trench coat.

I sheepishly pull the other bud out of my ear and turn my phone all the way off. I don't look up from my lap. Embarrassment creeps and my cheeks burn red.

oooo

The lift was much, _much_ easier than I could have anticipated. I didn't freak out like I thought I would.

The rest of the flight went much like the beginning.

I listened to the waves, pretending I wasn't thousands of feet above the ground.

She didn't speak to me again.


End file.
